


Dear Master

by I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Gen, Heavy Angst, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-31 02:23:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12666339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning/pseuds/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning
Summary: A letter to Qui-Gon from Obi-Wan.





	Dear Master

**Author's Note:**

> Courtesy Warning to Qui-Gon Fans: He's not canon-compliant. You might experience some justifiable anger towards me.

Master,

 

This is the third time I've tried to write to you. The first time Bant said my writing was illegible. I've been working on it since. The second attempt's writing ended up smudged because of ridiculous means. It won't happen this time.

 

I know you're out there, with Anakin. Occasionally I hear of his unintended exploits. I'm glad you found a Padawan so talented. He sounds kind and strong.

 

I completed a mission recently. The details are fairly boring, so I'll spare you. They made me a master. I don't know if you know, so I thought I would mention it, just in case. Perhaps it is vain of me. I heard your voice the other day, have felt your presence in the halls, so I know you're here.

 

I know I disobeyed you in that fight with Maul. Sometimes I think I have paid in full for that disobedience between the loss of my sight and these ten years of silence. But then I remember how you called me through the bond to wait. How you stood there trapped by that red shield, unable to do anything as he wounded me. It must have been terrible to be so helpless, to have to watch it happen. So perhaps I do deserve this. I will not complain over your silence.

 

I do wonder, though, if you were a little proud of me for overcoming the pain enough to trust the Force to strike the killing blow. It was certainly the most in-the-moment thing I'd ever done. To let go of my fear and the pain—Master, it was terrible, some days still is, if the sun strikes them— to fill myself with light, to become a vessel for the Force, it using me instead of me using it.

 

Or, perhaps, because it was in disobedience to you, it is not worth being proud of. I greatly suspect the latter, so imagine my surprise when I returned to the Temple to be hailed by the younglings as the Sith killer. They wanted me to touch each one of their faces so I would know what they looked like.

 

It's strange. That battle was ten years ago now. It feels an eternity, but when I open my eyelids, all I see is crimson, and it brings it all back.

 

I am thinking of taking on a Padawan of my own. It's too soon, isn't it? The title of master has gone to my brain? I can't help but remember that even with all your experience, two of your apprentices failed and the other ended up mediocre. I've tried to meet Feemor a few times, but it's become clear he's avoiding me. I can't help but wonder why, having never met the man.

 

I did meet Dooku, finally. He doesn't like me very much. It made me wonder... but no. I'm ashamed of the question. You wouldn't have pretended to like me while I was your Padawan, while secretly barely able to tolerate me. Such a thought reveals much of my ego. You're very busy with Anakin, no doubt. I cannot imagine the weight that raising the Chosen One must be.

 

I find I wish you would make contact. I tried to reach you, that day I heard your voice. I thought I'd nearly found your table when your presence faded. Perhaps Anakin called, needing your assistance.

 

I would like to know if you approve of the master status they've offered me. I can't help but feel it's a farce until I know. Maybe they made a mistake. And I wish I had your advice on whether I should take a Padawan, though upon further contemplation right this moment, I think it would be unwise. What was I thinking? Knighted without my Trials by someone not my master, then granted masterhood even though my right to knighthood hadn't been established, clearly I would not be good for a Padawan.

 

This missive has devolved in the most repulsive way possible. I did not start it intending to go on and on about me. Perhaps I should throw this one out and try again some other time. Or not at all. Perhaps that's what you're trying to teach me: Independence. How to not lean on you anymore.

 

The Council seems to think I've learned such a thing. I've been running missions for the last nine years without the help of my eyes, most of them solitary, I have older younglings throwing themselves in my path wanting to be my Padawan to the point where I try to avoid places they lie in wait for me. It's humiliating, knowing they don't really see me. I'm not surprised you can't bring yourself to make contact. I've become some sort of gaudy celebrity. You always preferred the quiet, and anywhere I go these days ends up decidedly  _ not  _ that.

 

I want to sound confident, to tell you I'm alright, so that you won't worry about me. So that you can focus on training Anakin without the troubling reality of a jealous former Padawan.

 

My confession is this: I'm not alright. I miss you. I find I miss you more than I miss the sight that Sith stole from me. It has been so long since you spoke to me last. Just a word, Master— but to beg is pathetic. And I may be blind, disowned, and wearing unearned titles, but I refuse to be pathetic.

 

Farewell, my Master. Never fear. I will not burden you with this letter. I will destroy it, like the last. I will raise my chin, take a breath, and keep on.

 

Someday it will be alright.

 

Forgive me the lie, but I need it tonight. It's empty in my quarters. Cold. Dark. Always dark, no matter how many lights I turn on. Always lonely, even when there are friends here, laughing with me. And there's none of that tonight. I cannot seem to feign mirth, though my friends wanted to celebrate the granting of the title.

 

May you find what you seek. May I find something  _ to  _ seek, because I'm not sure where to go from here. I thought surely that with the title of master you would forgive me.

 

Yours always despite... despite what you did in the Council chamber,

Obi-Wan Kenobi

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Obi-Wan smiled a little grimly as he set down the pen. “At least I didn't leave tears all over this one,” he mused as he committed the paper to flame.


End file.
